


Witch Business

by ThunderStag



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aslan knows what hes doing, Battle, Community College, Discworld will die when its good and ready or not at all, Granny Weatherwax isnt so sure, Let Witches Deal with Witches, Scolding, Unintentional Magical Consequences, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27537055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderStag/pseuds/ThunderStag
Summary: When a Witch goes bad, it's the business of Witches to deal with her.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Witch Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NimbusLlewelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NimbusLlewelyn/gifts).



> With enormous thanks to Nimbus Llewelyn, who has spent more time reading Discworld than I have spent writing literally everything I've ever written, probably.

Atop the cliff overlooking the battlefield, the great Lion roared defiance to the armies of the White Witch, and Lucy felt bravery enter her heart. Before her, wolves and minotaurs and cruel-looking dwarves turned and ran in fear, and behind her, she felt the warm presence that meant Aslan was near. All around, the Narnains they had rescued from the Witch's castle rushed into battle with the rest of the army, and the tide began to turn.

But down the way, half-hidden behind a cluster of large stones, Lucy could see her: the White Witch, dressed in white armor and wearing Aslan's shorn mane on her breast as a trophy. She was fighting Peter, and her brother was not winning.

"We have to help him!" Lucy cried, and drew her short knife and started to hurry forward, but she felt Aslan's enormous velvet paw on her shoulder.

"Peace, Daughter of Eve," Aslan said. "If I so chose, I could take Jadis now, but some things are best done properly. When a Witch goes bad, it is only right that a Witch sets her right again."

"Even if you have to step into her kitchen in the middle of the day?" a sharp voice asked, and Lucy turned at last to look behind her. The woman who had spoken was tall and thin, and handsome more than beautiful. Her hair was iron-grey and drawn tight under her hat, which was certainly a Witch's hat, for it was tall and black and pointy and had a broad brim. "Not so much as a by-your-leave, not so much as a polite request. Just a great old talking lion in my kitchen in the dark and a roar and the door leads to a battle!" She glared around, her gaze sending the few remaining Narnians from the White Witch's side scurrying away, and snorted. It was a good snort. Her nostrils flared and her whole body went into it a little.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Granny Weatherwax," Aslan said calmly. "Time was of the essence, and a witch has gone bad in a way I believe you are familiar with."

"Hmph!" Granny Weatherwax said, glaring some more. "A witch gone wrong in the middle of a battle, and I can't say I'm surprised; it's the wrong sort of place for a self-respecting witch. Why, any witch wouldn't let this sort of mess get as far as it's gotten!"

"This one started the battle herself," Aslan told her.

"Ah," Granny Weatherwax said. "One of those, then. Very well, I'll take care of it. You there, girl!" Lucy started guiltily, though she wasn't quite sure what she had to be guilty about. "Take this," she told her, and handed over a broom that had been in her other hand. "Not much use in the middle of the day." The broom didn't look much like a witch's broom; it was long and made with twig bristles, of course, but it was also dented, nicked, a little scorched, and a lot of the bristles had fallen out. Then, rolling up the sleeves of her black dress, Granny Weatherwax stormed off down the slope.

"Are you sure that's...safe, Aslan?" Lucy asked, eventually. Aslan sighed.

"Safe for Granny Weatherwax, most certainly. Safe for Jadis? Even I do not know all things."  
_-0-_

To say that Peter was beginning to tire would be stretching the truth. He'd been tired since slightly before his first blow against one of the enemy Narnians, and growing more so for every second the battle dragged on. He wasn't really sure what the Centaurs had been talking about, with their stories of hours-long battles and sieges that lasted for years; Peter couldn't rightly imagine a fight lasting another minute, at this rate. And all the more so since he'd engaged the White Witch; she was fast and angry and absolutely deadly, moreso than she should have been, with her two swords. Peter wasn't really sure if his sword and shield were a better match than her two wickedly fast blades. He wasn't dead yet only because Edmund had destroyed the awful icy wand, so she couldn't turn him to stone like so many others on this battlefield.

He was understandably surprised, then, when a third party entered the battle without a sword or a shield or even armor, but instead wielding a truly fierce expression and a hatpin. The White Witch was so surprised she actually faltered for a moment.

"Stand aside, fool," she snapped, raising a sword.

The woman looked the White Witch up and down. The two were as different as night and day; Jadis, towering over all others, wielding two great swords, beautiful and terrible as a glacier; her apparent opponent seeming to be no more than a tall old lady with features that might be called handsome, distinguished only her hat, her penetrating diamond stare, and utterly unimpressed expression, as if she was dealing with a sulky child rather than an immortal force of nature and wickedness. Which, Peter had to admit, the White Witch seemed to increasingly resemble.

"So this is witchin' in these parts, is it? Shoutin' a lot and wavin' swords around?"

The White Witch's expression grew furious. "I am the only witch in Narnia, old fool! Stand aside or be cut down like all the rest!"

"If you're the only witch in these parts, then that's a poor look-out for witching in general," she said. "All of this Narnia place to run and the best you can do without your little wand is wave a couple of bits of pointy metal round?" She sniffed again. "Sounds hardly better than a wizard, to me. And even they has the sense not to wave swords around, actin' like Cohen the Barbarian." She raised an eyebrow. "So tell me, madam: Are you going to try and use those swords of yours? Or are we going to settle this like witches? 'Cos a real witch don't need any toys."

"Do not test me, small one! I have learned of the magic of this place in a way you never could have. I have studied its every stone and stream since it was first sung into existence. I have learned and used the Deplorable Word!"

From the sound of things, the Deplorable Word was a great and terrible thing, Peter thought. He could could practically hear the capital letters. But once again, the other witch seemed to be unimpressed. In fact, she was rapidly shading into contemptuous.

"'S nothing special. I've been learning Deplorable Words since Gytha learned to sing. Try me." The White Witch drew herself up into a towering rage. As she did, the other witch's gaze snapped over to Peter, who had been sneaking around the White Witch this whole time. She nodded slightly, and Peter - who had a sneaking suspicion that she had known his plan form the beginning - reversed his sword and cracked the White Witch over the head with the hilt.

"Oi! You!" the witch shouted at Aslan, who had been quietly instructing Lucy in how to properly apply healing cordial to Edmund. "Problem solved. Now, if you're done wastin' my time, I'm off home."

"Of course, Granny," Aslan said, apparently unfazed at being treated with rather less than the usual awe and reverence. "You have the thanks of Narnia."

The woman, Granny, raised an eyebrow. "Thanks or no thanks, I have things to do back home," she said. "Things which you interrupted. My privy won't move itself."

"I am sure one of the uninjured soldiers can be persuaded to assist you, Granny," Aslan said serenely. "With that or any other household tasks you were planning to undertake. And since Spring has come again, we have both a surplus of old but useful winter clothing and fresh fruit. While I know you do not take payment, your actions deserve more thanks than mere words."

That drew a very brief, slight smile from Granny, before she nodded evenly. "That would be... acceptable," she said.

"I am glad to hear it," Aslan said smoothly, managing to sound both sincere and the tiniest bit amused. His gaze hardened as it turned to the still unconscious White Witch. "I was also hoping for your opinion on the punishment of Jadis - the Witch. I have a few ideas, and I was wondering which you felt which would be most appropriate." 

Granny's diamond eyes gleamed, and this time, the smile that appeared lasted a little longer, and it sent a chill down Peter's spine that the Witch's winter had never managed. It was the smile of someone who was about to do what was Right. Which, as Edmund would observe years later after long experience of administering justice in Narnia, was not even close to Nice.  
_-0-_

When Jadis awoke, it was with a pounding head and dust in her nose. She sneezed, regretted it, and sat up slowly. When she opened her eyes, the sun was shining in them. She groaned.

"Awake at last, I see," a smooth, cultured voice said. She managed to turn her head just enough to see a tall, narrow man with a neatly-trimmed goatee. He looked like he was planning your funeral, but it was nothing personal. He looked like he was planning a boring speech in the same thought. He was paler than death* - she would know - skinnier than a rail - she had made it happen to others - and looked entirely too satisfied with himself.

"Where am I?" she growled. It came out as a rough rasp.

"You are in the great city of Ankh-Mopork," he said, his tone mild. "You are serving community service for crimes which are, I am told, both numerous and unsightly."

He then proceeded to explain what community service was, exactly, and where she was (nowhere near Narnia, which she could tell now that she could taste the unfamiliar air), and that he was The Patrician. She scoffed at his explanation and, furious at the change of circumstances and still experiencing a bit of a headache, spoke the Deplorable Word. When she could see and think again, she was lying in a heap against the far wall, upside down. The Patrician was sitting in a chair with his eyebrow raised. He was not dead.

"Ook?" she demanded.

"I believe that you experienced what is called a 'feedback loop,'*" he told her.

"Ook!"

"No, I'm afraid it won't wear off, as far as we know."

"Ook?"

"Well, the last chap is still an orangutan."

"Ook?" She looked down, or rather up. "Ook!"

"Think of it this way," he said, not very comfortingly. "Now, you can have this." He handed her a banana.

"...ook."

"Well, it'll make your community service with the Guard a little easier, at any rate."

-

*Death himself has not been polled on the issue, but if he was he would have said that IT IS NOTHING MORE THAN HYPERBOLE. I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO FORGIVE A LITTLE HYPERBOLE, FROM TIME TO TIME.

* It is important to note that the phrase feedback loop implies that something exploded and hurled Jadis against a wall. Since this is the Disc, in fact something picked her up, turned her upside down, banged her against the ground much like a carpenter working at a particularly tough nail, and only then hurled her against a wall. The Disc has enough going on with its existing magic, thank you very much.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I can't honestly say if Jadis ever gets turned back. Probably she comes around to the Librarian's way of thinking, although I will say with some certainty that that specific relationship never comes to be; one of them would die. Does Jadis' presence in the Watch change anything about its history? Absolutely not. Does she ever come to respect Vimes? To her very core, and with incurable bad grace.


End file.
